


home is a feeling i found with you

by jostxnneil



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-indulgent fluff, Slow Burn, That's it, bc i don't know how to tag, but the fic itself is a good sort of sad, have fun, i wrote this while i was sad, just take it, like that's literally all this fic is, look i'm tired and i haven't slept properly in a week, more like a series of bonding moments, there's bed sharing, they have a bonding moment, they patch each other up and bake a cake, they're healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:18:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostxnneil/pseuds/jostxnneil
Summary: The quiet between them is comfortable enough that it’s almost the same as talking. Lance isn’t sure when they fell into this—whatever it is. This something that isn’t nothing.He likes it.





	home is a feeling i found with you

**Author's Note:**

> 'patching each other up'  
> 'two ppl that are horrible in the kitchen bake a cake'  
> 'you're taking up the whole bed can u pls move i know you're not asleep u jerk i will kung fu kick u out of this bed'  
> 'pillow talk'  
> ...yeah. i took a few prompts and ran with them. this is where it went.

                Losing Shiro was hard on all of them. There was a gap in their lives—like they’d lost a vital organ and had to somehow learn to function without it.

              There wasn’t anything ‘easy’ about it. The first week was hell. No one was sleeping or taking care of themselves. Keith stopped talking to anyone except for Black and Red. Hunk stress-baked, and then he didn’t, which was arguably worse. Pidge…she worked nonstop trying to find Shiro. It almost wasn’t any different than how she’d been working to find her family, except that it was because it was _Shiro._ Because it’d been the last straw, the final weight that broke the proverbial camel’s back.

                Lance was okay. Well, no, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t as bad as the others. Mostly because he recognized the wave of negative emotions as they started to come at him, went, ‘nope, fuck that,’ and kept himself busy to fend them off.

                That mostly involved taking care of the others—at least, trying to. It didn’t go well at all, at first. He’s not even sure what he did could count as ‘help,’ for all the good it did.

                But then…he’s not sure what changed. Maybe he did. Maybe they did. Maybe it was something in the air, or just something in his head.

                They started recovering. Not getting used to living without Shiro, no—they couldn’t. And it was painful without him there, like trying to walk on a broken leg or use a limb that wasn’t there. But they got better at coping.

                This was due, in large part, to new routines.

                It’d been nearly three months, now. Keith had started talking to them again around the end of the first month, even if it was mostly one word statements and simple answers to questions he was asked. He’d gotten a bit better since then, although he was still disproportionately quiet compared to the memories of him Lance had from before they lost Shiro.

                But they were okay. Well, no. Not okay. But maybe they were getting there?

                They’d be okay. Yeah…they’d all be just fine.

                …………………..

                The time after Zarkon’s defeat and Shiro’s disappearance was mainly filled with diplomatic missions—that, and chasing the last of the Galran colonies away. Half-hearted fleets would attack them on occasion, but even missing a major part of the team, it didn’t take much to win those battles.

                That wasn’t to say they escaped them without a single scratch, though, so here Lance was, stumbling slowly along next to Keith, wobbling on their feet like the exhausted zombies they were on the way to the infirmary.

                It’d become a tradition for the two of them to patch each other up after missions. It wasn’t something that happened easily—the whole thing started because Keith was being his usual reckless self-destructive self and Lance was tired of it. Which meant that he yelled at him and dragged him by the collar of his stupid jacket all the way to the infirmary and shoved him into a chair to patch him up.

                He spent the whole time slamming things around and muttering passive aggressive comments under his breath, although he was gentle when his hands were actually on Keith.

                Keith was surprisingly meek during the whole ordeal, although he spent most of it half-glaring at Lance with a strange mixture of annoyance, confusion, and thoughtfulness.

                And then at the end of it all he had to turn everything Lance had said around on him. Which was annoying but somehow also incredibly rewarding.

                The gist of it was: both of them were terrible at taking care of themselves and had a tendency to throw themselves in the path of danger whenever it meant protecting the others. Both of them also had a vested interest in keeping the other alive, well, and functioning. And so it led to…this.

                They were usually silent throughout the whole thing, too tired to do anything other than apply clumsy bandages (which were slowly improving with all the practice they were getting, something that could be seen both negatively and positively) and go to bed.

                Today, however, seemed different.

                The battle was the first in a while that had them come face to face with actual Galra. They’d been working on liberating a planet from a particularly stubborn group, and it involved a bit of stealth infiltration and ground fighting.

                A few of them had mentioned Lotor, although it was still nothing that actually gave them any useful information. Pidge had lost her cool and started screaming at one of them to tell her what they were talking about, which of course didn’t work.

                Someone had taunted them about Shiro. It wasn’t widespread knowledge that he was missing; they didn’t want that getting around, but whenever they fought, it became pretty clear that they were down a teammate.

                Keith had gone quiet again. It was unnerving, but Lance let him, because he was intimately familiar with unhealthy coping mechanisms and was very well aware that sometimes they were the only things keeping you sane in the middle of a shitstorm.

                And yet. Like he said…something was different this time.

                He was carefully applying butterfly bandages to a shallow cut on Keith’s temple, fingers barely brushing his skin, and then he was looking into Keith’s eyes and quietly asking, “Are you okay?”           

                Lance is pretty sure his words surprise both of them, but he keeps his fingers twisted in Keith’s sleeve and waits for an answer anyway.

                Part of him is expecting it to just be a simple, “Fuck off,” or the ever popular, “I’m fine.”

                Keith stares at him, and the deep purple circles under his eyes make him seem older than he is. “No,” he says, quiet, and yet Lance is sitting close enough that he doesn’t have to strain to hear at all, “No, I’m not really okay.”

                Lance nods, and turns to grab the tub of Altean ointment that’s basically a much more effective version of antibiotic ointment. He’s quiet while he starts to apply it.

                “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

                “No,” Keith answers immediately. Then, “Maybe. I don’t know.”

                Lance lets his hand linger a little longer than necessary on Keith’s cheek. _I’m here,_ he tries to convey.

                Keith sighs, and Lance leans back so they have room to switch places. He offers his right hand, where his knuckles are bleeding and bruised from punching a Galran droid in the face when it got too close for him to use his blaster.

                Keith’s hands are always warm. Maybe it’s the gloves.

                “I lost him once,” Keith murmurs, staring down at Lance’s hand like it has all the answers he’s been looking for. His hair is falling into his eyes, hiding some of his expression from view. “And I thought that was the hardest thing I’d ever have to go through.”

                Lance doesn’t speak, afraid that opening his mouth will shatter the fragile air between them.

                “And then I lost him again,” Keith’s voice cracks on the last word, and emotion rises in Lance’s chest until he almost can’t keep quiet, “And it’s so much worse. I didn’t know it _could_ be worse. But I…”

                His grip tightens on Lance’s hand, just for a moment, and his voice is hoarse from withheld tears when he continues.

                “I don’t know what I’m doing, Lance. Shiro wanted me to be the black paladin…and Allura wants to follow his wishes, but I’m not—I’ve never really been the leader _type._ And suddenly I’ve got all this responsibility when all I want to do is run away and look for Shiro. I just want my—I want my brother back. He’s the only family I have, Lance. I can’t—I _can’t_ lose him. I can’t.”

                At some point while he’s talking, Keith looks up, and the desperation and anguish in his eyes makes Lance’s chest ache.

                “I’m not going to promise you that we’ll find him,” he finally says, voice soft, “because I know you’ve already heard that from everybody else and I doubt it’ll do any more good coming from me. But I’ll promise that we’re gonna do our best to find him as soon as possible—that we _are_ doing our best to find him as soon as possible. And also, Keith—for what it’s worth? Whatever you decide to do? If it’s to lead Voltron, or to step down and let someone else take over—I’ll be right there behind you every step of the way.”

                Their eyes meet for just one moment longer than is absolutely necessary, and Lance tries to convey everything that he’s feeling into that one moment. _I believe in you,_ he says. _I’m sorry that you’re hurting,_ he says. _I’m here. I’m here. I’m here._

Then Keith ducks his head and makes a sound suspiciously like a sniffle, angrily swiping at his face before taking a deep, shuddering breath and tying off the bandage around Lance’s hand.

                “Thanks,” he whispers, and starts to get up to leave.

                Lance catches his hand. “Wait,” he says.

                Keith waits.

                Lance opens his mouth, then closes it. Shakes his head. Tightens his grip on Keith’s fingers.

                “Lance? Was there something you were going to say?”

                Lance bites his lip and scrunches his nose, looking sheepishly up at Keith. “I don’t know? I didn’t really think ahead this far.”

                “I’m confused.”

                “Just—you were leaving, and it didn’t feel right. I don’t know. Um.” Lance sighs, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Where were you going?”

                “To sleep? It’s three in the morning, Lance.”

                “Okay, except I know you don’t sleep, so.”

                “I sleep, Lance. I’m not a vampire.”

                “Could’ve fooled me. Pale skin, antisocial behavior—”

                “Lance.”

                “Right, sorry, not the point. You know what I meant; and we both know that neither of us are gonna sleep tonight. We’re just gonna lay in bed and pretend to sleep, and either we’re gonna get up and do something dumb until everyone else is up or we’re gonna wait until what passes for morning and be just as tired as we are now if not worse. That’s how it works.”

                “So?”

                Lance squints at Keith. “I don’t really wanna dignify that with a response.”

                “You just did.”

                “Well, technically, yeah—ugh. Nope. Not starting. I refuse. Look. Keith. Keefers. My man. Do you wanna bake a cake?”

                “Lance—wait, what?”

                The look of confusion on Keith’s face almost makes Lance grin like he hasn’t in weeks. As it is, he manages a faint half-smile.

                “Yeah, I know, it sounds dumb, but just—it’s something I used to do with my mom when I’d had a bad day. She could always tell, and as soon as she could, she’d drag me into the kitchen and make me help her with some baking project. I don’t know why, but it always helped.”

                Keith only stares at him for what seems like a full minute but is probably only seconds, and Lance shrinks back, starting to let go of Keith’s hand and apologize for suggesting something so stupid, but Keith grabs onto his fingers before he can withdraw completely.

                “Your mom sounds pretty great.”

                Lance smiles, small and sad. “She is.”

                “You never talk about her.”

                Lance shrugs. “It hurts to think about it too much, so I try to avoid it.”

                Keith’s head tilts, just barely, and Lance almost smiles again. There’s interest there—and maybe a little bit of understanding. “Would you tell me about her? About all of your family?”

                Lance summons a mischevious smile to his face, hating how fake it feels but loving the suspicious glint it brings to Keith’s eyes. “I will if you bake a cake with me.”

                “Can I remind you, again, that it’s three in the morning?”

                “You’ve never stress-baked in the middle of the night? Man, you’re missing out,” Lance teases, and Keith shrugs, suddenly awkward.

                “I’ve never really…baked at all, honestly. No one ever taught me how to cook—well, no, Shiro tried, but he’s the type to burn water and barely manage microwave noodles, so it wasn’t much of a help,” he admits.

                Lance stares, shakes his head, and stands. He takes his hand out of Keith’s and presses his palms to the sides of his head, carefully avoiding his new cut, and very seriously says, “Keith. I am so sorry you’ve been living like this.”

                Then he steps back, latching onto Keith’s sleeve and dragging him out the door. “Also, you’re stuck with this now. We’re baking a cake.”

                He hears Keith sigh behind him, but when he glances back, there’s maybe the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

                That’s enough.

                ………………..

                “This is such a bad idea. We don’t even know what’s edible,” Keith complains, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter, generally refusing to be helpful.

                “Of course we do. Hunk labeled everything that isn’t with these,” Lance tells him, holding up a container with a fluorescent orange HAZARDOUS TO HUMANS sticker on it.

                “That’s super reassuring, Lance,” Keith says.

                “Isn’t it? Hunk’s the real MVP. Also, he labeled the rest of the food with what it sorta kinda tastes like and marked them with helpful bullet points like ‘do not try to make cookies with this, they’ll explode in the oven’ and ‘if you combine this with the goo it’ll make something like elephant toothpaste but way more extreme,’ so we should be able to figure out this cake thing just fine.”

                “What about the ones that are just labeled with question marks?” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow.

                “Either he hasn’t gotten to test them yet or he just has no clue what they’re supposed to be. Could be either/or.”

                “So we don’t know if those are hazardous to humans?”

                “Well, we know they won’t kill us. Coran scans everything after the incident with Pidge and the alien pineapple.”

                “But…?”

“But it could still cause non-lethal symptoms. OH, like, this one time, Hunk made me try some sort of weird fruit, and it made my tongue turn green. Like, not ‘I ate too many popsicles’ green, but actual legitimate green. We laughed about it and then I scared the hell out of myself when I went to bed because I very abruptly discovered that it also made me glow. Like, it looked like I’d swallowed a glow stick. I fell off my bed.”

“…do we still have some?” Keith asks, and the look on his face is almost like before.

“Unfortunately, no. We ate the last of it a couple months ago when Pidge and Hunk were having a really bad night and needed cheering up.”

                Lance starts pulling random things off the shelves, piling anything that catches his eye on the counter next to Keith. Keith eyes the pile skeptically, but doesn’t object.

                “What kind of cake are we making?” he asks, bewildered, as Lance stacks alien ‘vanilla’ and ‘chili powder’ on top of each other.

                Lance shrugs. “No clue. Figured we could make it up as we go. What kind of cake do you like?”

                “I don’t know? The normal kind?” Keith says, perplexed, and Lance stares at him, scandalized.

                “’The normal kind’?!?” he demands. “What kind of human are you? Nope, no, don’t—I see that angst face and this bonding moment is absolutely _not_ going to turn into you being emo about having a Galran parent. Stop that right there.”

                Keith closes his mouth with an audible snap, and Lance is enormously pleased with himself right up until Keith quietly asks, “ _Is_ this a bonding moment?”

                  _Well, shit._

                Lance opens his mouth on instinct to vehemently deny everything, but then he sees the fragile _hope_ in Keith’s eyes and he can’t bring himself to do it. So, instead, he smiles, and says, “Yeah, I’d call this a bonding moment. We’re baking together. If Hunk was here he’d call us cute and domestic.”

                The _something_ between them disappears with his last sentence as Keith rolls his eyes, and Lance is both relieved and disappointed by it.

                “I’m still in doubt that any actual baking is going to get done.”

                “As long as it’s in a kitchen it counts as baking. So shush.”

                Lance stops grabbing ingredients and starts sifting through what they have, trying to find inspiration for a flavor.

                “Are you a chocolate or vanilla person?” he asks abruptly.

                “Chocolate,” Keith answers instantly.

                “At least you’re not completely hopeless,” Lance tells him. “I’m also really glad you didn’t say strawberry, because first of all, no, and second of all, I’m allergic to strawberries. Now—”

                “You’re allergic to strawberries?” Keith interrupts.

                “Yes, Keith, please keep up with the conversation. Technically, we don’t have anything chocolate flavored, but that does at least tell me something about your flavor preference, so we’re gonna try a few different things—”

                “Why didn’t I know that?” he asks.

                “Know what? That I’m allergic to strawberries?” Lance says, confused.

                Keith nods.

                “It never really came up? Hunk knows, so he knows to stay away from anything that seems similar to strawberries when he’s cooking. It didn’t really seem important for anyone else to know,” Lance explains.

                “Oh,” Keith says.

                Lance shrugs, not sure what else to say but filled with the urge to explain himself more. He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I just. I don’t really talk about myself a lot, you know? Well, I do, but not the important stuff. I never have.”

                “I noticed that,” Keith murmurs, and Lance could spend hours pondering the implications of those three simple words, but Keith is _right there_ and he’s not about to jump into that hole now.

                “Right. So. We’ve got something cinnamon-ish, which would probably be awesome in a cake, and a few other things that aren’t guaranteed to be awesome but would absolutely be interesting to try. What do you think, Keith? Play it safe or risk it all?”

                Keith’s unimpressed stare at his reference is completely worth it. Especially when Keith answers with, “What kind of red paladin do you think I am? Risk it all.”

                “I like your style, Kogane,” Lance says.

                He starts separating the ingredients by what would (hopefully) go well together and what should never so much as touch.

                “Hey, Lance?” Keith starts, completely faux-casual, and Lance would laugh if he wasn’t trying so hard.

                “Yeah, Keith?”

                “I wanna know that stuff. The strawberry thing, I mean. Well, and other stuff. About you.”

                Something warm grows in Lance’s chest, and his smile is genuine. “Back at you, Kogane.”

                ………………………..

                 “This was a terrible idea.”

                “Eh. I’d rate it a 4.6 on the scale.”

                “There’s cake batter in your hair.”

                “Keith, we attacked a Garrison unit and then flew away in an alien warship. This is absolutely no higher than a 4.7.”

                “I think I can see my hair growing.”

                Lance looks over at that, lazily rolling his head to the side to see where Keith’s laying on the floor next to him. He squints, but everything is a little spacey at this point.

                Ha, spacey. Cuz they’re in space.

                “That might just be the sleep deprivation, my guy. I can’t tell anymore.”

                “Or it might be a side effect from those corkscrew berries you put in the cake.”

                “Man, I hope not. I don’t wanna grow a mullet; it’d ruin my flawless reputation.”

                “I really don’t have a mullet, Lance. This is just how my hair grows.”

                “So you’re so emo that it grows out in your hair. That’s impressive, dude. That’s like, level 300 emo-ness.”

                Keith’s hand flops over to half-heartedly hit him in the arm.

                “You don’t make any sense,” Keith complains.

                “When have I ever?”

                “…fair point.”

                They lapse into silence, and Lance sighs—a content sound, for once. He hasn’t been this kind of tired in a while—the drowsy, almost-like-you’ve-been-laying-in-the-sun-for-hours type of tired.

                It reminds him of days on the beach and mornings spent making pancakes for his army of siblings and nights laying on the roof and dreaming of a future in the stars.

                He smiles.

                “What are you smiling about?” Keith asks, and Lance can hear the start of a smile in his voice as well.

                “Mmm. Memories. Home…” he trails off, and then realizes something that makes his heart feel about three times bigger in his chest. “I know we’ve been up here for over a year, but…I think this is the first time it’s ever really felt like anything familiar. Like a home.”

                Keith doesn’t say anything, and when Lance rolls over onto his side to look at him, Keith’s eyes are already on his.

                “Yeah?”

                Lance smiles again, and nods, ignoring the way it makes his hair rub against the metal floor of the kitchen. “Yeah.”

                “I don’t think I’ve ever really had a home before,” Keith admits, and Lance’s hand reaches over of its own accord to poke Keith in the cheek.

                “Of course you do, dummy. Home isn’t—it’s not really a place. Well, it can be, but it’s more like a feeling. People that you’re comfortable enough to share yourself with. And you’ve got us, right?”

                There’s an almost distressed look on Keith’s face that instantly has Lance running over his words again in his head, trying to figure out what he said that might have been wrong, but then Keith looks over at him, brows furrowed, and says, “I don’t think I really know how to be part of a family.”

                Lance shrugs. “It’s not really something you learn? And for the record, I think you’re doing just fine with it. Families are all different. They fight, and they argue, and sometimes things get messy, but they’ve always got your back no matter what. They protect each other and pick each other up when they’re down.” He smiles again, moving a bit closer so he can nudge Keith with his elbow and provoke a returned smile. “It’s good. We’re good. You’re—good.”

                Keith smiles, and wow his face is closer than Lance expected and he’s totally rethinking this ‘moving closer’ business now but he’s too far in to back out now—

                “Thanks, Lance.”

                “…you’re welcome, Keith.”

                ………………………………

                “Keeeeeeeeeeeeith. I don’t wanna go to bed.”

                “You’re falling asleep on the floor, Lance.”

                “But my room is cold and dark and it’s too quiet sleeping alone and it makes me miss my family and it’s almost six in the morning so what’s even the point of sleeping, right?”

                “Allura isn’t going to wake us up until ten at the very earliest after our night, Lance. You know that.”

                “So we’ve only got four more hours to burn! Wanna make another cake?”

                “No, Lance.”

                “How about something else? Pie? Scones? Ooooh, no, no, I know—a _quiche!_ ”

                Keith stares down at him, unimpressed. “A quiche?”

                “Yeah, cuz—you’re Keith. Keef. Quiche.”

                “I’m going to smack you.”

                “Keith, we’ve talked about this. Violence isn’t the answer.”

                Keith rolls his eyes and crouches down, grabbing the sleeves of Lance’s jacket and yanking him up into a sitting position—their foreheads almost smack together and suddenly their faces are barely an inch apart and Keith has this infuriatingly cute smug expression and he’s not moving away—

                “How about this—if you don’t go to bed, I’ll lock you in the training room with the level twelve training bot.”

Holy shit, Lance is really far gone. Okay.

“I’d make an inappropriate joke right now but I’m scared you might kill me so I’ll keep it to myself.”

“I appreciate your restraint.”

Lance rolls his head back and to the side to stare at Keith down his nose. At some point Keith moved from holding his sleeves to holding his hands and he’s not entirely sure that Keith’s aware of it but he’s not about to complain.

“Help me up?”

Keith rolls his eyes but stands and then hauls Lance to his feet with barely an ounce of difficulty. Lance tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice.

They start walking toward their rooms, lights flickering on and then off behind them as they pass. Their shoulders brush with every other step, despite the fact that the hallway is almost definitely wide enough for four people to walk side by side without touching at all.

                The quiet between them is comfortable enough that it’s almost the same as talking. Lance isn’t sure when they fell into this—whatever it is. This _something_ that isn’t nothing.

                He likes it.

                All too soon, they’re at his door, and Lance is staring at it and realizing that he isn’t ready to be alone and Keith is waving and starting to walk down the hall towards his own room.

                “Keith,” he says, careful and quiet again.

                Keith stops, hand brushing the wall as he looks back over his shoulder at Lance. He doesn’t say anything, waiting patiently for Lance to continue.

                “I really don’t wanna sleep alone.”

                Something softens, changes. He’s not sure what it is, but unlike most of the irrevocable changes he’s had to experience in the past year, this one doesn’t feel bad or overwhelming.

                It washes over him like the tide at night, and something is different, again.

                “I don’t really wanna sleep alone either, Lance,” Keith says.

                Lance looks at him. Takes a few steps forward, and his fingers are pinching Keith’s sleeve and gently pulling him through the doorway and into his room.

                Once upon a time, this might have felt awkward and strange and awful for both of them.

                It feels _right._ Like pieces falling into place.

                Like building a home.

                ……………………

                “Lance.”

                A groan.

                “You’re taking up the whole bed.”

                Incoherent mumbling.

                “Lance, I know you’re not asleep.”

                Slurred shushing.

                “If you don’t make room I will kick you out of this bed.”

                Scoffing.

                “I’m not kidding.”

                Lance sniffs at him. He still doesn’t budge.

                “ _Lance,”_ Keith says, drawn out and annoyed. If he’d known the blue paladin was this much of a bed hog, he never would’ve accepted his invitation.

                …yeah, okay, he’s lying to himself a little there. Still, this isn’t going to work for him.

                Lance is spread eagle on the bed, limbs everywhere, breathing softly into his pillow. The fact that he doesn’t snore is a miracle, but Keith’s entire body is tense to keep him just barely balanced on the edge.

                “I’m gonna fall off the bed, Lance,” he tries again, trying to force a warning tone into his voice. It comes out more whiney than anything, and he’d grimace at the sound of it if he had room to.

                Lance huffs pushes himself up onto his elbows, and Keith almost chokes on his tongue and starts desperately wishing he hadn’t said anything.

                His hair is a mess, strands curling up in all different directions in such an endearing way that Keith is upset he’s never seen Lance with bedhead before. There are pillow creases on his cheek, and his eyes are half-open and sleep-swollen.

                “You really don’t know how to do this, do you?” he asks, voice gravelly in that way it gets when you’ve slept too little or too much and your vocal chords don’t know what to do about it.

                “We’re sharing a bed, Lance, not building a nuclear bomb. I don’t think it’s possible to not know how.”

                “And that’s where you’re wrong, my poor sweet antisocial butterfly. Look, I shared my bed with my family all the time back home on earth. We could fit five people on a twin bed smaller than this one. You wanna know how?” Lance asks, casual and conversational. His expression is forgiving and tolerant and fond, and Keith wishes Lance hadn’t stolen all the blankets, because he could really use them to hide under.

                Keith doesn’t want to ask, because that’s just doing exactly what Lance wants, but he’s patient and he waits and stares with those sleep-hazy blue eyes, and Keith finds himself sighing and asking, “How?”

                “We made room where there wasn’t any.”

                “That doesn’t make any sense, Lance.”

                Lance rolls his eyes, mouth tilted in an exasperated smile, and then he moves and suddenly Keith finds himself no longer hanging off of the edge of the bed.

                It might’ve been better for him to stay that way, honestly.

                He and Lance are tangled together now, and it seems they’re somehow miles away from the edge of the bed even though Keith objectively knows that it’s right there.

                Lance’s limbs are still everywhere, but now Keith is tucked into and around them, somehow, and it feels familiar and perfect and comfortable and warm.

                He’s not sure how this is familiar to him. He’s never been in the situation to do something like this.

                “See?” Lance asks quietly, staring and smiling and sad. “We fit just fine.”

                Keith doesn’t know what to say, so he whispers, “Go to sleep, Lance.”

                “Only if you do.”

                “I am.”

                “Your eyes are open. You can’t sleep with your eyes open.”

                “How do you know? Have you tried?”

                “Every day in Iverson’s class at the Garrison. Never worked.”

                Keith snorts, and Lance has that smile again. The one he gets when he makes someone laugh and he’s so astonished and proud and happy of it that it takes up his whole face.

                Keith pokes him in the ribs, and he laughs, breathless.

                “I wouldn’t do that unless you want pushed off the bed, samurai. I get violent when I’m tickled.”

                “You’re ticklish?”

                “Yes, as you just discovered. I’m trusting you with this information—that means you better not tell Pidge, because then I’d have to kill you.”

                “I won’t,” Keith promises. He doesn’t say that it’s partially because he likes having a secret about Lance all to himself.

                He’s not sure what this is. Them. The talking, half-hearted banter that doesn’t make much sense if he thinks about it too much. He thinks he remembers someone talking about something similar once upon a time.

                _Pillow talk._

                The phrase feels like a definition. Like if he looked it up in a dictionary he’d find a picture of him and Lance there, lying in bed and smiling like there were secrets curling in the corners of their mouths.

                He could count Lance’s freckles from here.

                His body settles into the mattress, like some long-held tension has finally fallen away. He wishes it was like this always.

                “Hey, Lance?”

                “Yeah, Keith?”

                He hesitates before asking, but the words twist from his mouth anyway, as though his usual careful filters have fallen away. “Would you tell me a story?”

                Lance looks at him for a long time with something unreadably heartwrenching in his eyes, and Keith wonders what he sees.

                “What kind of story?”

                “The kind with a happy ending.”

                “Like a fairy tale?”

                “No,” Keith says, and wonders how to explain the emotion that’s wound up inside his chest. “The true kind.”

                Lance hums thoughtfully, and Keith wonders if he realizes that his fingers have starting twirling the ends of Keith’s hair.

                Keith doesn’t mention it, scared that if he does, it’ll stop.

                It feels like forgotten comfort.

                The slow rumble of Lance’s chest as he starts to talk is so soothing that it almost lures Keith to sleep instantly.

                He stays awake to hear what Lance has to say.

                “Once upon a time,” he starts, “a girl lost her soulmate to the stars.”

                Keith feels his heart clench, and wonders why such a beginning resonates so deeply in his bones.

                He’s not sure how this is a happy story. But he trusts Lance to tell the right story.

                And after all.

                After all, the true sorts of happy endings rarely have happy beginnings.

                “Once upon a time,” Lance says, and it feels like a beginning in more ways than one, “a wish came true in the best of unexpected ways.”

                Keith wonders if this is what a family is.

                _Is this home?_ he asks, curious at this _something_ he feels. _Is this what Lance meant?_

                He watches the shape of Lance’s mouth as he tells his story, voice a quiet murmur.

                It feels like reassurance.

                _This is a family,_ a voice tells him. It sounds like Lance. _This is home._

                He smiles and closes his eyes, and falls asleep before the story ends, content to save the happy ending for another night.

                _Once upon a time, a boy found home by leaving it. Once upon a time, the stars gave back something they’d taken. Once upon a time, eyes met and souls wished, and a happy ending came closer than expected. Once upon a time, a story began, about love and family and a home in the sky, and it has yet to end._

_Once upon a time…_

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing is super self-indulgent. anyway, if u ever wanna scream about klance, voltron, or obscure space facts, u can come talk to me on [tumblr.](https://jostxnneil.tumblr.com/)


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